In the Stillness

CHAPTER 35



“Man, you’ve had a hell of a few weeks, huh?” Tosha stretches across my gorgeous pre-Eric couch in my post-Eric apartment. Though, I guess we’ll never really be “post” each other, given the boys.

“Yeah, but . . . you know how they say things get worse before they get better?” I set wine glasses in front of us.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m kind of in the middle of that right now. All this purging with Ryker, and talking with his dad, and filing the papers for my divorce with Eric,” I pause for a sip of Syrah, “I almost feel like more of a mess than I did before.”

Tosha rests her hand on my leg. “That’s because you haven’t been cutting. And, Nat, I’m so f*cking proud of you for that.”

I haven’t cut in weeks. Not since the time I discussed with Dr. Greene. My reasons for not doing it vary each time the urge comes. Sometimes I’m worried Eric will turn and use it against me, other times I’m worried about the boys finding out somehow. And still, despite the endless amount of self-talk against my guilt, I sometimes feel like I’d be betraying Ryker. I’m fully aware that there needs to be a reason within me not to do it, a reason for me, but I haven’t gotten there yet. It’s like a crystal vase on the highest shelf you put off dusting for a year. It’s there. You’ll get to it. Just not now.

It drives me crazy to not cut. Sometimes I’ll be watching TV and find myself dragging my thumb nail across my wrist until it feels raw, or I’ll clench my fists so tight that little crescent-moons stay on my palm for an hour. I thought getting myself to stop cutting would be the hurdle; it turns out it’s getting myself not to want to.

“Dr. Greene thinks I should ask Ryker to come to a session of mine,” I blurt out.

Tosha spits some wine.

“Oh come on,” I tease, “watch the nice couch, would ya?”

“Sorry. What?”

“Yeah. She said she would have suggested it the last time I was a patient of hers, but Ryker was still on probation . . . then he disappeared. It was all just a little too fresh at that point.”

“Are you going to ask him?” She’s suddenly quite alert, sitting cross-legged and bright-eyed.

“I’m scared a little . . .”

“That means you have to, you know.”

I sigh. “I know.”

“So call him.” Tosha nudges my thigh with her foot.

“What? Like now? Are we thirteen?”

She stares, unamused. Rolling my eyes, I thumb through my phone, hover over his name, and finally tap “call.”

“Hello?” He’s smiling.

“Hey you.” I try to smile, but it’s feeling more like a tic.

I haven’t talked to Ryker since we had dinner at his dad’s house two weeks ago. Again, he hasn’t called me either. Although, he did text me the next day letting me know what a nice time he had.

“What’s going on?”

There’s nothing we can small talk about. I hate that. I just have to get right to the point.

“So, as you know, I’m seeing Dr. Greene again.”

His voice takes on a business-like tone, “I do.”

“Well . . .” Looking at Tosh, who gives me thumbs up, I’m grateful she made me call while she was here or I might never have had the guts to do it. “She suggested it might be a good idea if you come with me to one of my sessions. Evidently there are some things she thinks I should say to you in a therapeutic setting . . .” I try to sound sarcastic, but this isn’t particularly funny.

Well, this is quite a long pause.

Ryker clears his throat. “Can I think about it?”

My stomach drops. “Oh, of course.” For some reason tears prick at my eyes.

“It’s just—”

“No, Ryker, really, it’s fine. It’s a lot, I know.” Pinning my phone between my ear and shoulder, I start picking at my nails. “So, just in case, my next session is Wednesday at her Northampton office at two-thirty.”

“Okay.” His voice doesn’t even sound like him right now. It sounds distant.

Shit. It sounds like “gone” Ryker.

“Bye.” I quickly end the call and face Tosha. “That was mortifying.”

“What?” She shrugs. “Did he say he wouldn’t come?”

“No, he said he’d think about it.”

“Oh,” she scrunches up her nose, “ouch.”

“Yeah.”

About an hour later, as our talk about how Tosha’s summer is dying down, I decide to revamp the awkward vibes in the room.

“Tosh?”

“Yeah, Honey?”

“Why didn’t you ever like Eric?”

In a rare move, Tosha sets her wine glass down and crosses her arms in front of her.

“Well,” she starts with a sigh, “my reasons sort of evolved over the years.”

I smile a little. “I get that . . .”

“I mean, at first it was because he was so openly pretentious and just knew he was hot shit. And, I promise you, that has nothing to do with me being a lesbian. He simply irritated me. But, you two were f*cking hot together, and he made you happy . . . you made sense, you know? He grew on me, don’t get me wrong, but I never saw a long-term spark. I figured once you started traveling for your doctoral research that you guys would kind of fade out.”

Swallowing the rest of my wine, along with the hopes of that research, I nod along.

“Anyway, when you got pregnant and he suddenly became a self-appointed spokesperson for “Focus on the Family” . . . ” she fakes a shiver, “I’m not saying I would have driven you to the abortion clinic without question or whatever, but, it was like you had no choice at all. He wouldn’t even hear it. Then the marriage,” she rolls her eyes and refills her wine glass, “how he made that big proposal production in front of your family at your birthday dinner? God, it was like he was forcing you to say yes.”

I have to laugh, now that it’s all over. He really did make a production out of it. My birthday that year, shortly after finding out I was pregnant—with twins no less—we had a quiet dinner at Eric’s parents’ house. My parents and brother came up to help me move my things into Eric’s apartment and celebrate with us. The bastard got down on one knee in the middle of everyone, and professed that he wanted to spend eternity with me and our children.

I suppose it would have been a TV-worthy moment had we even discussed marriage—at all—before that very moment. Instead, our mothers hugged and cried, and sighed relief, while I gave a shocked “of course.” Of course. Seriously? Tosha stared at me like I was on fire for the entire night, while my dad gave me a long hug. I knew what he meant.

“Why don’t you like Eric?” she prompts.

It’s an important word choice of hers, and I don’t let it go unnoticed to myself. Like. It’s clear that love faded—or jumped off a cliff—long ago. But like. No, I guess I don’t like him after all.

“Aside from the affair?” I snort. “For a while, honestly, most of what I didn’t like about him turned out to be things I was mad about in myself. I didn’t like him because he got to keep going in his Ph.D. program. On paper it made perfect sense. He was already further along than I was and would finish sooner and wouldn’t have to travel. I hated how happy he looked when he came home from a long day in the lab . . . hated.”

“What was going on last year . . . when he said the affair started? Like, what was going on with you guys?”

“Well, that was the end of my second year being fully stay-at-home by myself, and the start of his last year at school . . . I don’t know, the pressure? He was in the lab all the time, around her more than me . . . and I was just so tired and, honestly, depressed, I didn’t notice . . . or care to notice.” For the last several weeks I’ve been scrolling through every memory I can muster from the last year, searching for clues or signs of my husband’s infidelity and . . . nothing.

Tosha seems to hesitate before asking her next question. “Do you think you would have ever left him if it wasn’t for the affair? I mean, you’d talked about it with me a lot, but . . .”

I sigh and rock my head back onto the couch. “I don’t know. I’d like to think I would have, because we were really starting to bring out the worst in each other. But, I don’t know if I could have shouldered that kind of guilt. There’s enough of it floating around for everyone as it is, but the affair just makes it a little easier for me, you know?”

“Yeah. I do.”

My phone dings with a text message, interrupting our sudden silence.

“Oh great, it’s Ryker,” I groan, still feeling slightly embarrassed about our phone call.

“What’s it say?”

Ryker: Hey. I don’t want to leave you hanging and picking at your fingernails till Wednesday. I’ll be there.

“He’s going to come to my therapy session.” Tears forming, I set my phone down and wipe under my eyes.

“Why are you crying? Isn’t that a good thing?”

I nod, my jaw clenching around the need deep inside me to cut rather than admit it. “I’m just scared.”

Panic rushes through my nerves as I struggle to breathe under the full weight of the things I know Dr. Greene is going to have me discuss with Ryker. On Wednesday. In her office. Just the three of us.

Shit.